Chapter I: Sind Folk Stories (1)

LAL SHAHBAZ.

A SIND SAINT.

Sehwan is known to Englishmen chiefly as a handy station for those who wish to shoot on the Manchar lake. In the summer it enjoys an unenviable reputation for heat. The bare rocks of Lakhi known as the Bagothoro are said to end the last struggles of the monsoon. Indeed the Lakhi pass is known locally as the gate of the infernal regions; and an often quoted Persian couplet about Sehwan runs as follows:

“When both Sehwan and Sibi grill so well
What good was there, O Lord, in making Hell?” [1]

But besides its fame as a sporting and a roasting centre, Sehwan has an immense reputation for sanctity. Within its confines repose in mighty state the earthly remains of the greatest saint of all Sind, worshipped alike by Musulmans and Hindus, the renowned Lal Shahbaz, the Red Peregrine Falcon of the Indus valley.

Lal Shahbaz’s real name was Hazrat Sayad Usman Shah Marwandi. He was born at Marwand in Afghanistan in A.H. 538. His father Makhdum Sayad Ahmed Kabir was a powerful noble and a great friend of the king of Tabriz. From his earliest years, so it is said, the boy shewed a great leaning towards things spiritual. Before his twelfth year he had already made the blind see, the deaf hear and the dumb speak. When Lal Shahbaz reached manhood, he insisted on leaving his father’s house and started on a pilgrimage. He first went to Baghdad where he stayed at the court of the monarch Sayad Ali. When he wished to leave, Sayad Ali implored him to remain at Baghdad for ever. But the religious call was too insistent and with three friends, Sheikh Bahawaldin, Sheikh Farid Ganj Shakar and Makhdum Jalaluddin, Lal Shahbaz set off for the Persian Gulf. In an island in the Gulf lived a fakir named Sheikh Jalal whose austerities had won him supernatural gifts. Lal Shahbaz determined to reduce him to obedience and make him his disciple. No boats were available so Lal Shahbaz threw his “kishta” or begging bowl into the water and it became a boat. Into it the four friends stepped and rowed for Sheikh Jalal’s island. About half way the boat stopped dead and no matter how hard the saints plied the oar, it declined to move. At last Lal Shahbaz realised that the island fakir had cast a spell on them. But he could only have done that, if one among them was not a true anchorite and was still thinking of the joys of this world, while pretending to have given them up for ever. Lal Shahbaz told this to his friends and asked them whether they had one and all given up the world wholly. They protested their complete unworldliness. But as the boat still refused to budge, Lal Shahbaz went through their pockets. In the pocket of Sheikh Bahawaldin he found, as I regret to say, a brick of solid gold, which the saint was keeping against a rainy day. Lal Shahbaz threw it overboard. Once freed from this sordid freight, the boat began again to move. As they drew near the island, Lal Shahbaz saw Sheikh Jalal looking at them through a window of his castle. To punish him for stopping the boat, Lal Shahbaz made the window grow so small that it gripped the fakir’s neck as if in a vice. Sheikh Jalal yelled for mercy, but it was not granted him until he had owned himself beaten and had promised to become an obedient and humble follower of Lal Shahbaz.

The great saint acquired his appellation of Lal Shahbaz, by two remarkable miracles. After the defeat of Sheikh Jalal, Lal Shahbaz and his three companions went to Mecca and Medina. As they were returning from the blessed vision of the prophet’s tomb, they halted one night in a town on the coast of Arabia. Sheikh Farid Shakar Ganj went to buy bread for the party. Unhappily the baker’s wife conceived an unholy passion for the young man. Like a true ascetic he rejected her odious advances with the icy disdain of Saint Joseph. The baker’s wife thereupon behaved after the manner of Potiphar’s consort. She began to scream that Sheikh Farid Shakar Ganj had tried to outrage her. The unhappy anchorite was seized, dragged before the governor and condemned to instant execution. Lal Shahbaz heard of it and took immediate steps to rescue his innocent friend. He changed one of his two remaining friends into a deer and bade him run towards the gallows. The crowd ran madly after the deer to catch it. Lal Shahbaz turned his second friend into a lion. It charged the executioners roaring terribly. They fled incontinently. Lastly the Saint changed himself into a peregrine falcon and swooping down picked up Sheikh Farid Shakar Ganj and bore him to a place of safety. By this miracle the Saint got the name of Shahbaz, the Sindhi word for a peregrine falcon. How did he obtain the title of Lal? It was this way: A certain Murshid once challenged Shahbaz’s friends to bathe in a caldron of boiling oil. They not unnaturally declined the challenge, whereupon the Murshid mocked them as unworthy impostors. They sorrowfully told their master of their discomfiture. On the instant he accepted the challenge and going to the Murshid’s house, leapt into the boiling oil. He stayed so long at the bottom of the cauldron that his rival owned himself beaten. “Come out,” he cried, “you are indeed a Lal among Lals (a ruby among rubies)”. The master rose triumphantly out of the oil. He had suffered no harm from the immersion, but the heat of the oil had turned his robe crimson. That robe he wore to his dying day and was in the end buried in it. So he came to be known as Lal Shahbaz.

After his journey to Mecca and Medina, Lal Shahbaz came to Sind. He wandered until he came to a spot still called ‘Lal jo Bagh’ or the garden of the ruby, two miles from Sehwan. Sehwan was, however, already a holy town and its worldly minded fakirs dreaded that the advent of so famous a mendicant would reduce their earnings. They sent him a cup full to the brim of milk, that he might know that just as the cup could hold no more milk, so Sehwan could hold no more anchorites. Lal Shahbaz sent to those worldly minded ones a fitting answer. He made a flower float on the milk and returned the cup, thereby shewing to the fakirs that there was still room for yet another holy man and that the newcomer meant to be above the others, even as the flower was above the milk. After this event Lal Shahbaz spent most of his time in Sehwan. His friend Sheikh Bahawaldin left him and went to Multan. Before leaving he offered to Lal Shahbaz and the latter accepted the hand of his daughter. Not long afterwards Lal Shahbaz learnt in a trance of the death of his prospective father-in-law. He went to Multan and asked Sheikh Bahawaldin’s son, Sadaruddin for his betrothed. Sadaruddin refused. The Saint thereupon cursed him and vowed that the girl should wed no one else, but would find an instant resting place in paradise. Shortly afterwards the poor girl died and Lal Shahbaz returned to Sehwan. He died on the 21st of the month of Shaban 650 A.H. at the ripe age of 112; and the anniversary of his death is kept as a great festival. From all quarters of Sind come fakirs and musicians and dancing girls to dance before the shrine of the mighty anchorite. The chief feature of the celebration is the marriage of Lal Shahbaz to his lost bride.

Now why do Hindus worship at his shrine? That is perhaps the strangest part of the story. In 56 B.C. lived the great king Vikramaditya of Dharmanagar or Ujjain, the Arthur of Hindu historical legends. At his court lived the nine gems of learning and his valour and his arms reduced all India to subjection. Once upon a time he resolved to disguise himself and see with his own eyes how his viceroys governed his provinces. He appointed to be his regent during his absence his younger brother Brartrahari. One day the Goddess Parvati gave to a devout old couple in Ujjain an apple, that conferred immortality on anyone who ate it. The old couple preferring riches to immortality sold the apple to the regent for a great price. The regent gave it to his youngest and prettiest wife. She unfortunately had a lover and she gave the apple to him. He in turn presented it to a dancing girl, who sold it back to Brartrahari. The regent thereby discovered his wife’s infidelity. In a rage he flung away the apple and abandoning his office, became an anchorite. According to the local legend, he wandered until he came to Sind, where he became a devoted worshipper of Shiva. He called his abiding place Shivisthan or the place of Shiva. From Shivisthan has come the modern name Sehwan. Brartrahari lived at Sehwan until he died and by his life and death made the spot holy. The Musulman invasion swept away the temple of Shiva, but the memory of the pious recluse lingered on; and when Lal Shahbaz came and worked miracles at the spot where Brartrahari had lived, the Hindus declared that Lal Shahbaz was his reincarnation.

The miraculous powers of Lal Shahbaz did not die with him. After his death streams of molasses, sugar and milk are said to have spurted from the wall of his tomb. These articles he meant for the use of the poor of Sehwan only. Nor did he mean that any should take more than one helping in any one day. Sad to relate, his pious wishes were brought to nought by the greed of the townspeople. Poor and rich alike rushed to profit by the dead saint’s bounty and none confined himself to a single helping. In disgust the dead saint bade the streams dry up and all that now remains of them is a group of stones that look exactly like petrified sugar molasses and milk. These the guardians of the shrine shew to wondering pilgrims as proof positive of the legend’s truth.

UDERO LAL.

Udero Lal was born on Cheti Chand, the first day of the Sindhi month Cheti and also the first day of what is known as the Chaitradi year—the year that begins with the month of Cheti or Chaitra instead of the month of Kartak. In Udero Lal’s honour the Government offices throughout Sind are closed. So in common gratitude every Government officer ought to enquire who Udero Lal was. He was the son of an aged couple called Ratno and Devki, who lived at Nasarpur. Ratno hawked cooked gram and was a devout worshipper of the Indus river. They had two sons already, but had long passed the age when married couples hope for more children. Ratno was sixty and Devki over forty, when Udero Lal was born. But Udero Lal’s birth was due to divine interposition. The cause of it was as follows:—

In the year 939 A.D. one Marak was governor of Tatta. He was a bigoted Musulman and he suddenly resolved to convert to Islam the whole Hindu population under him. He proclaimed by beat of drum, that he would kill every Hindu, who did not change his faith within twenty-four hours. So alarmed were the Hindus that, so the story runs, all their cooking pots fell from their shelves; and exclaiming that a camel had entered the king’s head [2], they went in a body to his minister Aho. Through him they gained a fortnight’s respite. At that time, so the legend has it, the Indus flowed past Tatta. On its banks the despairing Hindus gathered and prayed to the great river to save them from the hands of Marak. At the same time they vowed that if no answer was vouchsafed to their prayers within a week, they would throw their children into the stream. On the fourteenth day they would with their wives in their arms throw themselves into it and thus escape the cruelty of Marak.

On the seventh day when they were on the point of drowning all their babies, they saw the river god himself rise from the waves, a beautiful figure, all of snow-white foam. He bade the Hindus no longer despair. He had heard their supplications and within the allotted fortnight he would be born in the house of Ratno, the gram hawker. He bade them warn Marak of his approaching birth. They did so and the wicked governor sent Aho to seize the baby directly it was born. The child Udero Lal arrived on the last day of the fortnight. Aho was about to seize it, when it changed instantly into a youth of sixteen, then into an old man and once more into an infant. Aho was dumbfounded and his hatred and unbelief changed to love and faith. He begged the child to return with him to Marak, so as to convince him also. The babe replied “Go back to Tatta. There stand on the banks of the Indus and call me and I shall come.”

Aho went back to Tatta and told Marak. The governor was frightened out of his wits, still he ordered Aho to go to the river bank and call on Udero Lal to rise from the river. Aho did so and as the words left his lips, a tall beautiful youth, riding a noble steed, rose from the river and behind him followed thousands of soldiers and horsemen, chariots and war elephants. The terrified minister fell at Udero Lal’s feet and begged him to send away the mighty army that followed in his footsteps. The youth turned round and dismissed his warriors. A moment later the great army had vanished into the depths of the Indus. Aho led Udero Lal into Marak’s presence and told him the marvels that he had witnessed. Marak instantly seated Udero Lal on his right hand and craved his advice. Udero Lal bade him to cease from his cruelty to his Hindu subjects. But while Marak listened with pious looks to Udero Lal’s words, his heart was full of black treachery. After he had escorted with all reverence the beautiful youth to one of his palaces, he ordered his soldiers to surround it. For he now plotted to convert to Islam not only his Hindu subjects but Udero Lal also. But it was idle to strive to bind the Indus river. When the kazi and the surgeon came to convert him he had vanished.

The indignant Marak resolved not to give his Hindu subjects a day’s more grace and announced that he would convert or kill them all that very evening. They went to Ratno’s house. There they found Udero Lal, once more a baby in the cradle. They prayed to the divine child and he bade them go to the river and sit in a temple that they would find there. When all the Hindus had assembled, a fearful thunderstorm burst and fire from heaven consumed the palace of the governor and the houses of his officers. Marak, Aho and the kazi, although badly burnt, escaped from the conflagration and ran to the river. There they saw a splendid temple and in it were seated Udero Lal, once more a beautiful youth and round him thousands of Hindus, perfectly sheltered from the storm that had fallen on Tatta. The three wicked men fell at Udero Lal’s feet and Marak took a mighty oath never again to harass the Hindus. Udero Lal then bade the winds be still and the storm at once passed away. Udero Lal vanished and so did the magic temple. But the Hindus built on the spot a real one of stone that stands to this day. Lights burn in it day and night and it is known as the Khudio temple or the temple of Refuge.

When the Hindus went to Nasarpur to tell Ratno and Devki how their child had helped them, they found Udero Lal once more a baby sleeping peacefully in his cradle. Nothing further happened until Udero Lal was a little boy of six, when his mother Devki thought that he might help his father by hawking cooked gram too. She gave him a tiny jar of cooked gram and bade him hawk it through the streets of Nasarpur, taking payment either in cash or in kind. That evening Udero Lal brought back a huge pot full of grain and gave it to his mother. This went on for several days until his parents grew more and more curious to know how he got grain many times its value for the cooked gram. Next day they followed him and they saw their little son go to the river bank and dip the jar of cooked gram into the water. When he pulled it out again, it had become a great pot brimming over with grain. When Udero Lal was ten and old enough to be invested with the sacred thread, he asked to be given a guru. He took his father and mother to the river bank and found sitting near it the great God Shiva. Udero Lal went up fearlessly to the mighty God and told him that he had come in search of a guru. The god replied “Why do you, who are the guru of gurus, want a guru?” Udero Lal pleaded that even Vishnu’s avatars, such as Rama and Krishna had had their gurus, why then should one be denied to him? It so chanced that the saint Gorakhnath passed by at that moment and Shiva bade him take Udero Lal as his pupil. Gorakhnath did so and taught him all his holiness and wisdom.

Now Udero Lal had a cousin called Phugar, who was greatly attached to him. He made Phugar his disciple and taught him the learning which he had received from Gorakhnath. One day to test Phugar’s faith he told him that he wished to be alone and meditate. But Phugar refused to leave his master’s side. “Will you plunge with me into the Indus?” asked Udero Lal. “Where you go, I go,” was the reply. Udero Lal took his cousin’s hand and dived into the river. A few minutes later they came to the surface and found themselves in mid-stream between Rohri and Sukkur. In front of them was a little island on which they climbed. This was the famous island of Zinda Pir, of whom more hereafter. Master and pupil stayed there some weeks until Udero Lal learnt that Ratno and Devki were both very ill at Nasarpur. He reached his birthplace in time to bid them farewell. But their deaths preyed on his mind and he longed to rejoin the mighty river from which he had sprung. He first called to him his elder brothers Somo and Bhayandev and bade them give up the things of this world and like Phugar become his disciples. But though they promised always to worship light and water, they would not give up all and follow him. Udero Lal then declared that Phugar would be his only disciple. He called him and gave him the following seven gifts:—

A Var or ring that fulfilled every wish of the wearer.
A Jot or lamp that gave to him who looked into its flame a vision
of the Most High.
A Kanta or quilt that guarded the wearer from demons and from human
weapons.
A Deg or cooking pot that remained always full of food.
A Tegh or sword that put to flight the five evil passions—kam or
lust, krodh or anger, lobh or greed, moh or love of the things of
this world and ahankar or selfishness.
A Jhari or pitcher that remained always full of Ganges water.
A Daklo or musical instrument that reproduced the songs sung in
heaven.

When twelve years old Udero Lal bade Phugar choose a spot, whereon to build him a temple, as he meant soon to leave the earth. Phugar chose an open field owned by a Memon. The saint asked the Memon to give him the land. The Memon refused but offered to sell it. Udero Lal scratched with his spear the surface of the earth and shewed the astonished Memon treasures of gold and silver. Then he drove his spear deep into the ground and it became a mighty kabar tree. The Memon was so startled that he went away to take counsel of his wife. On his return he bade the saint take the field as a gift. All he asked, was that he might be the majavar or attendant of Udero Lal’s tomb. The saint blessed him and promised him that his life long he would never lack food. Udero Lal took another spear and smote the ground with it. Up spouted a fountain of clear water. He mounted his horse; the earth opened in front of him. Spurring his horse he leapt into the yawning pit.

At first Phugar was broken-hearted and nearly died of grief. One night he saw in a dream Udero Lal who bade him put away his grief and build a temple on the spot where the saint had vanished. Where the water had spouted from the ground he was to sink a well and near it to build a rest-house. When the saint’s wishes were known, all Nasarpur flocked to Phugar’s aid. Even the wicked Marak and his minister and kazi offered their help. But while the Hindus wished to build a temple, Marak and the Musulmans wished to build a mosque and quarrels broke out between them. At last they resolved to take the advice of Udero Lal himself. All one night they kept vigil until they heard a voice that said “In my sight there is neither caste nor creed.” Pacified, they built both mosque and temple. Of the temple Phugar was made guardian and Marak named the Memon the mujavar of the mosque. From that day on, lamps have burnt night and day in both temple and mosque. The rest-house built by Phugar may be seen to this day and near it is the well, which grateful pilgrims have called Balambho or the well of ever-running water.

JINDA PIR.

In my last chapter I related how the saint Udero Lal and his disciple Phugar, after diving into the Indus near Nasarpur, came to the surface between Rohri and Sukkur and landed on a rocky island. The island is still there and bears on its rounded back a temple to Zinda Pir. According to the Hindus Zinda or the living Pir is none other than Udero Lal. According to the Musulmans he is somebody quite different.

According to the Musulmans, the river Indus flowed once past Alor and not past Rohri. Somewhere in the tenth century A.D. a Hindu king called Dalurai ruled at Alor. He and his brother Sasu Rai practised every kind of abomination. Such were their wickedness and their vigour that they enforced the jus primae noctis on every young lady, who was married within their dominions. On one occasion a pious Musulman merchant named Shah Hussein was going down the Indus, so that he might sail from its mouth to Arabia and visit Mecca. With him journeyed his beautiful daughter. On the way they stopped at Alor and the beauty of the merchant’s daughter was noised abroad and reached the ears of King Dalurai, who instantly demanded that she should be sent to his palace. But neither Shah Hussain nor his daughter had any wish that she should become the concubine of a Hindu king. They both prayed fervently to Zinda Pir. He appeared in a vision to the young girl and bade her and her father board their boat and weigh anchor. They did so and the stream at Zinda Pir’s command, changed its course and leaving Alor, brought the boat and its burden to Rohri. When Shah Hussain awoke next morning, he was close to Udero Lal’s island. To it he moored his boat and built the temple, that stands there to this day. On it are the words “Darga Ali.” These give the date 341 A.H. or 961 A.D.

The above tale explains the foundation of the temple but it does not tell us who the saint himself was. Earnest Christians will hear with surprise that he is none other than their old friend the prophet Elijah. They will probably exclaim with Molière’s M. Géronte “Mais que diable allait-il faire dans cette galère?” It was this way. According to the Islamic legend, Elijah was in a former life a very holy man indeed, named Balya Ebn Malkan. Because of the colour of his garment, he was also known as Al Khisr or the Prophet of the Green robe. Balya Ebn Malkan was the contemporary of Moses and in Chapter 18 of the Koran we find him going with Moses on a most interesting circular tour. The story is shortly this. Once the great Jewish sage was preaching to his people with such wisdom and eloquence that at the close of his sermon, they asked him whether there was any man in the world wiser than he was. Conscious of his great powers, he replied in the negative. That night God appeared to him in a dream, rebuked him for his vanity and told him that his servant Al Khisr was wiser than he was. Moses asked where he could meet this paragon of wisdom. God answered that Moses would find Al Khisr near a rock where two seas met. If Moses took a fish with him in a basket, the spot where he missed the fish would be the place where the prophet of the green robe dwelt. Moses took Joshua and a fish with him and in due course missed the fish and found the prophet. Moses asked leave to be Al Khisr’s disciple and to learn his wisdom. Al Khisr answered that if Moses came and suffered all that Al Khisr did without asking any questions he could be his disciple, but not otherwise. Moses promised to do so and the two prophets went to the sea shore and boarded a ship. Al Khisr at once made a hole in the bottom of it. Moses indignantly asked whether he wanted to drown every soul on board. But his companion sternly reminded Moses of his promise and left the ship. A little later they met a youth. Al Khisr struck him so violently on the head that he died at once. Moses angrily asked why he had taken an innocent life. Al Khisr again rebuked him and went his way to a city. There they saw a crumbling wall which the citizens could not repair. Al Khisr touched the wall with his hand and it became as if it had been newly built. Moses asked him why he did not claim from the citizens a rich reward. Al Khisr then turned on his unfortunate disciple and cast him forth. “Three times” said Al Khisr, “you have broken your promise and questioned my acts. You are not worthy to be my pupil. I made a hole in the ship to save it from the king’s men. Had it been seaworthy, they would have taken the ship by force and given the owner nothing. I killed the youth, because although the son of true believers, he was himself an unbeliever and I feared lest he should corrupt the faith of his parents. I repaired the wall for nothing, because hidden under it was a treasure, which a righteous man had buried there before he died. He left two orphan sons and it is God’s will that when they reach man’s state, they shall find their father’s treasure.”

During Al Khisr’s existence as Balya Ebn Malkan he found and drank the waters of immortality. That was why as Elijah he did not die, but was transported to heaven in a fiery chariot. And because he drank the waters of immortality, he is always connected with running water; and with what nobler stream, could he be associated than the Indus, as it passes through the Sukkur gorge?

To-day the special duty of Zinda Pir is to help the Indus boatmen when in distress. His functions are thus similar to those of the ancient Dioscuri, of whom Macaulay wrote:

“Safe comes the ship to harbour
Through billows and through gales
If once the great twin brethren
Sit shining on the sails.”

The Indus is terribly dangerous in July and August, when the mighty river swollen by the melting snows of the Himalayas comes tearing and tossing through the gorge. So one who has seen the Indus in flood can never forget the sight. It is then that the boatmen pray to Al Khisr. To attend more closely to their prayers, Al Khisr comes in person to his temple and for forty days sits in a little niche specially reserved for him. The niche has comfortable cushions and in front of it is laid a copy of the Koran. The saint is invisible, but the mujavars or attendants of the mosque or temple know that he has been there; for when the forty days begin they place in front of the niche the Koran open at the first page and when the forty days are past, they find the Koran open at the last page. Elijah has in his leisure moments read the Koran from cover to cover.

ABDUL LATIF, the Author of SHAH JO RISALO.

Abdul Latif’s grandfather Shah Karim was a Sayad of Matari and so celebrated for his piety that his mausoleum at Bulree in the Karachi District is still the scene of an annual fair. Shah Karim was born in 1558 A.D. and died it is said in 1660 A.D. The tale runs that while Shah Karim was yet a boy, he met a fakir in a mosque. The fakir had been a soldier, but the awful consequences of war had so preyed on his mind that he had deserted the army. Shah Karim became the spiritual follower of this fakir and grew up so renowned a saint that it was commonly said that whereas Bahawaldin, a rival saint, could make a live man dead, Shah Karim could make a dead man alive. Shah Karim removed to Bulree and had three sons, one of whom Shah Habib was the father of Abdul Latif, the subject of our article. The date of his birth is to be found in the Persian line on his mausoleum.

Gardeed mahw ishk wujoode Latif Meer.
(The spirit of the lordly Latif was absorbed in love).

According to the Abjad system, this gives the date of his death as 1751 A.D. As he was sixty-three when he died, he was born in 1688 A.D. He thus lived to see the establishment of the Kalhora dynasty, the invasion of Nadir Shah in 1739 and that of Ahmad Shah Durani in 1748.

Abdul Latif fell in love with a beautiful Moghul girl, the daughter of one Mirza Beg. He was said to be a descendant of Mirza Jani Beg of the Turkhan dynasty, whose tombs are among the Makli Hills. Abdul Latif serenaded the lovely girl in verses written by himself, until he was ordered off the premises by her father. Undefeated, he turned himself into a pigeon and cooed his love to the fair maiden from the trellis of her balcony. Even so Mirza Beg with a father’s vigilance pierced his disguise and threatened to set his falcons on Abdul Latif, unless he flew away. The unhappy Abdul Latif went and sat on a sandhill and watched the house of the Moghul girl with such devotion from afar, that the sandhill grew round him until it had covered all but his head. A goatherd Jam by name who passed saw his head sticking out. He told Abdul Latif’s father, Shah Habib, who had his son dug up. But Abdul Latif was still beside himself with amorous passion. He went to a carpenter and induced him to hollow out a tamarisk tree, that stood by itself in a cemetery. Latif got inside the hollow tree and looked out on the world through a single cleft. In vain Shah Habib sought everywhere for his son. At last his lamentations touched the heart of the carpenter, who shewed him his son’s hiding place. Shah Habib took his son home, but an evil fate overtook the carpenter. As a punishment for betraying Abdul Latif’s hiding place, he became a leper. Shah Habib licked the sores, so that they healed, all save one obstinate one that remained open on his forehead.

Abdul Latif did not stay long in his father’s house, but began to wander about Sind. One day he came to Lakhpat. There he saw some Sami fakirs worshipping an idol, probably of Parvati. They were pouring milk over it and as they did so, they repeated “O Grandmother, drink this milk.” But the idol being of stone, hearkened not at all. Latif went into the village, bought a bowl full of milk and stood close to the idol. In one hand he held his shoe and then he said to the idol “O Grandmother of the Samis, drink this milk or I shall beat you with this shoe.” The idol no longer hearkened not. Terrified at the threat, it drank up all the milk in the bowl. The Sami fakirs were filled with wonder and envy. After Abdul Latif had left the spot, they plotted to kill and eat him, so as to obtain his supernatural powers. They invited him to a feast, intending to make their guest the principal dish. But Abdul Latif by his inner knowledge guessed their wickedness and departed.

As he journeyed he met another fakir, whose beautiful face was haggard and worn, as if with care. As the fakir walked, he cried always “Jhal fakir, Hal fakir (Take it fakir, go fakir).” Abdul Latif asked him why he did it. The fakir refused to tell him, unless Abdul Latif promised to help him to win what he sought. “If,” said the fakir, “I win my goal through your help, I shall get you a Burat or letter of salvation.” The saint gave his promise and the fakir told him what ailed him. Some months before he had met a jungle tribe and had daily begged from them. Whenever he did so, a lovely maiden of the tribe had given him alms and as she gave them, she repeated these words “Jhal fakir, Hal fakir.” The beauty of the girl’s voice and face had burnt into his brain. When the tribe left, he could think of nothing but of her and he set out to seek her. As he went, he repeated her words in the hope of finding her. Abdul Latif by his inner knowledge soon located the jungle tribe. With the fakir he went to their camp and began to recite to them his verses. They were so charmed with the verses that they asked him to name his reward. He told them to send the lovely girl to the hut wherein he had put his humble belongings. The girl was sent and in the hut the fakir awaited her. Their eyes met, but the storm of passion that swept over both of them was too mighty for their strength to bear. They fell back lifeless into Abdul Latif’s arms. He called the girl’s parents and told them the tale of the fakir’s wooing and its tragic end. At his request the man and the maiden were buried in the same grave. That night Abdul Latif watched by the grave, for he had not yet received the Burat or letter of salvation. At midnight a woman’s hand rose from the grave and offered him a letter. But Abdul Latif doubted the virtue of a Burat that came from a woman. “I shall not take the Burat,” he said, “unless he who promised it to me gives it.” The girl’s voice answered that that was impossible. The fakir for very shame, she said, dared ask nothing from God. He had not been able to hide his love but to the whole world had told his sorrows. Her love had been as ardent as his, but she had had the strength to hide it. It was at her request that God had given the Burat and the saint must take it from her hands.

Another time Abdul Latif went to Kotri and there exposed the impostures of the Mullas who surrounded the governor Lalla Beg. At their instigation the cruel ruler ordered Abdul Latif to be impaled and then cut to pieces. When the executioners went to Shah Latif’s house to seize him, they found him already dead and dismembered. As they returned to tell Lalla Beg, they saw the saint standing in the roadside alive and well. They spoke of these marvels to Lalla Beg, who at once remitted the sentence.

Abdul Latif, before he started on his wanderings, had, because of his unsatisfied love for the Moghul girl, cursed the whole tribe of the Moghuls, who then lived in Sind. All this time his curse had been quietly working. One by one they had died off, including the hard-hearted Mirza Beg. Of all the Moghul children only one boy Gulla by name survived and the beautiful girl, whom Abdul Latif loved. Freed from her father’s cruelty by his death, she no longer hesitated but sought out and found her lover. With her she took her kinsman Gulla. Abdul Latif overjoyed at her coming recalled his curse and Gulla lived to be the ancestor of many Moghuls thereafter.

Abdul Latif, or as we should now call him Latif Shah, did not settle down to enjoy his wedded happiness at Varsum, where Shah Habib had lived and where he himself had been born. Near it was the tomb of an earlier saint Nuh Halani. The jealous spirit of the dead saint envied Latif Shah’s happiness and glory. Nuh Halani’s spirit haunted Shah Latif night and day. In despair Shah Latif sought the aid of Bahawal Hak, a holy man of Multan. He advised him to consult Sayad Mahmad Massum Shah. The latter in turn advised him to migrate to Bhitta, then a desolate mound of sand. Latif Shah obeyed the Sayad, but even at Bhitta—tantaene animis caelestibus irae—he was not safe from persecution. Nuh Halani changed the spirit of a former disciple into a huge snake and bade it bite the unhappy Shah Latif. But the latter prayed to Sayad Mahmad Massum Shah and with his aid and his own sanctity, he tamed the snake and kept it in a cage, as a trophy of his victory. Nuh Halani’s descendant Makhdum Mahmad Zaman could not bear the sight. He redeemed the snake at the cost of a vast stretch of country and turning the snake again into a spirit, sent it back to do service to Nuh Halani in the house of Hades.

“Happy is the wooing that’s not long in the doing,” is an old English proverb and perhaps it was of the long delay in the union of Shah Latif and his bride, that they were not blessed with children. Two legends are told to account for this calamity. One is that Shah Latif drew after him the son of one Jani, who in anger cursed the saint that his wife should bear him no sons. Latif Shah accepted the curse and consoled himself with the remark that his disciples were his sons. The second legend is that Latif Shah’s wife, a year after marriage, was expecting a child. After the manner of women in delicate health, she had strange longings. One day she sent her maid-servant to a great distance to get a certain kind of fish. Latif Shah missed the maid-servant and asked whither she had gone. On learning what had happened, he flew into a rage—if I may say such a thing of so holy a man. He cursed his unborn child, saying “If the child gives all this trouble now, what terrible trouble it will give when it is grown up! May such a blossom be nipped in the bud.” The child was still-born and no other came to soothe the poor mother’s grief.

It was at Bhitta that Shah Latif wrote the Shah jo Rasalo. When he had finished it, his two faithful disciples Tamar and Hashim brought it to him. As he read over the lines in which he had told the sorrows of Saswi, he exclaimed that the verses did not truly convey a spiritual meaning, but were full of sinful passion. As he said this, he flung the great work into the Kirar Dandh, a lake close by. His horrified disciples beseeched him to let them write the Shah jo Rasalo from memory. Reluctantly he consented and the Shah jo Rasalo was saved.

Shah Latif died in 1751 at the age of 63, three years after Ahmad Shah Durani’s invasion. The saint’s body lies in a splendid tomb designed by a celebrated mason of Sukkur, under the orders of Ghulam Shah Kalhoro. The door with silver bars was added by Mir Mahmad and a deep well for the use of pilgrims was sunk in the courtyard by one Laung Fakir. The Pir of the tomb is the descendant of Jam the goatherd, who found Shah Latif buried up to the neck in sand. Every Friday night pilgrims keep watch by the tomb and sing passages from the saint’s immortal poem. This custom had its origin in a dream dreamt by his disciple Hashim. After his master’s death, he was ill of fever and could not get well. One night Shah Latif appeared to him in a vision and bade him recite on the following Friday some lines from the Shah jo Rasalo. He did so and was cured.

MAKHDUM NIAMAT ULLAH AND MAKHDUM NUH.

Early in the 18th century the greatest saint in Sind was Makhdum Niamat Ullah, the father of a still greater religious luminary, the famous Makhdum Nuh. So renowned was Makhdum Niamat Ullah that an ancient fakir more than a hundred years old and known as La Ikhtyar or the Independent One was so affected by the stories told of the saintly Makhdum Niamat Ullah, that he gave up his independent life and went to Torio in the Hala taluka on the chance of seeing the object of his admiration. Torio was not Makhdum Niamat’s usual place of residence, but La Ikhtyar had had a vision that it would be at Torio that he would see the Desired One.

After some weeks Makhdum Niamat Ullah did go to Torio on business and passed La Ikhtyar, as he sat on his cot. At once the old fakir recognised the passer-by from the radiant glow on his countenance. The fakir got off his cot and made the saint sit on it and knelt at his feet. But as Makhdum sat, the fakir’s tame birds of which he had a large number suddenly flew away. The saint asked the reason and was told that he would be the father of a son who would love to shoot birds. When the fakir’s pets learnt this, they had flown away in terror. After bidding the fakir goodbye, Makhdum Niamat Ullah walked into the bazaar. As he passed a Hindu’s shop, the owner’s wife fell so desperately in love with him, that she begged him to take her away from her husband and marry her. The saint could not stoop to such wickedness; but to get rid of her importunities, he promised to fetch her away that very night. He left her and went to take a siesta in the shade of a high wall, some streets away. As he slept, a certain Amin, the chief of the Lankas, passed by on his way to Lower Sind. He had with him a comely marriageable daughter, who at once fell in love with the sleeping saint. Amin woke up Makhdum Niamat Ullah and offered his daughter to him in marriage. The saint gladly accepted the offer and was married to the beautiful girl the same evening. Next morning the Hindu woman saw the saint and going up to him, reproached him for not keeping his tryst. The saint explained that he was now a married man and must cleave to his wife. He, however, blessed the amorous Hindu lady and nine months from that very day, she presented to her husband a son called Zabhar.

On the same day as Zabhar was born, the wife of Makhdum Niamat Ullah presented her lord with a son, the celebrated Makhdum Nuh. Even as a tiny baby, Makhdum Nuh shewed his precocious saintliness. When only six days old, he compelled the fakir La Ikhtyar, who was his devoted slave, to go through the ceremony of becoming his disciple. The fakir lived until his infantile preceptor was five years old; then he died at the ripe age of 106 and his tomb may still be seen at Old Hala. His reputation for independence has survived him and many persons who are in difficulties still visit his tomb and ask the Independent One for his advice.

Makhdum Nuh took to the Koran, as the proverbial duck takes to water. At the age of seven he knew the mighty book by heart. At the age of fourteen he was vouchsafed a vision of no less a personage than Mahomed himself. As Makhdum Nuh was washing in the river his slate on which he had written some lines of the Koran, he saw a boat approach. In it were the Prophet, his son-in-law Ali and Huzrat Isa or Jesus. The boat stopped and the Holy Prophet called Makhdum Nuh by name. The boy went up to the boat and Jesus took his slate and wrote on one side of it fourteen lines. Then Ali took it and wrote on it eighteen lines and the boat glided away. The astonished Makhdum Nuh took his slate to his teacher, who found that what was written on it far transcended even his understanding. He asked his pupil what hand had written the lines. Makhdum Nuh told him about the three strangers in the boat; thereupon his teacher guessed what had happened and embraced the boy, as one to whom the Prophet had vouchsafed a vision.

Makhdum Nuh became when he grew up, as prophesied by the fakir, a great bird-shot; but he also worked many and mighty miracles. His most famous achievement was connected with the great mosque at Tatta. This mosque had been built at a cost of many lakhs of rupees by the orders of the Moghul Emperor. When it was completed, the faithful noted with dismay that it did not correctly face the Kaaba. This was too dreadful for words; for unless a mosque faces the Kaaba properly, it is useless. The faithful, too, of Tatta had been bragging loudly to their neighbours about their future mosque and they now would be exposed to their mocking laughter. The faithful of Tatta appealed to Makhdum Nuh. He called to his aid another holy man Ali Shirazi and they assailed Allah with continuous and soul-compelling prayers. At first nothing happened and the faithful began to murmur discordantly at the failure of the two saints. “But verily” as the Koran has it, “some suspicions are as sins.” Another half hour’s steady prayer and the great edifice began to quiver. Makhdum Nuh then called on all true Musulmans present to tie ropes to the building and pull it round; and lo! and behold! under the combined pressure of the prayers of the saints and the pushings of the faithful, the great mosque turned round slowly and then stopped dead. It had come to face exactly in the true direction of Mecca.

Even a man so holy as Makhdum Nuh could not escape from the malice of mankind. He had two great friends Muzaffar and Salar. Salar had promised his daughter in marriage to Muzaffar’s son. Unhappily a quarrel broke out between these two eminent men and Salar refused to give his daughter. Now in Sind marriageable girls are few and this was a home thrust. Muzaffar complained to Makhdum Nuh, who after hearing both sides ordered Salar to keep his promise. Salar obeyed, la mort dans l’âme; but he vented his spleen by cursing the said saint in the following quatrain:

“O Makhdum, you have done an act not pleasing to God; You have set
at nought what God had ordained.
You will suffer by having your corpse put in three different places
after your death.”

The curse of this impious blasphemer was unhappily fulfilled. The river Indus twice threatened the spot where Makhdum Nuh had been buried. The second time the river approached so rapidly that the disciples had to remove their master’s body in broad daylight instead of at night, as was seemly. Heaven, however, came to their help. As they began to lift the body from the grave, the sky became overcast and a mist as thick as a London fog spread over the land, so that none could see the decaying remains of one who in life had been strong and beautiful. The saint’s body found its last resting place about two miles to the west of Old Hala. A small town has sprung up round the tomb and is known as Murtazabad. A beautiful mausoleum now stands over Makhdum Nuh’s grave and the cupola over it was erected in 1795 A.D. by Mir Fateh Ali Khan Talpur. On the tomb were engraved the following words in order to silence possible slanderers of the dead man:

“If the wind were to blow furiously all over the world
It could never extinguish the lamp of those accepted by the Most
High.
Men who spit on a lamp, lit by Almighty God soon find that they
have in their folly, set fire to their own beards.”

According to my chronicler, these lines had an excellent effect. They were the proper stuff to hand out to the back-biters.

HAIDARABAD.

Haidarabad was once known as Nerankot and the king of it was Raja Neran. He had a beautiful daughter, who, from the exquisite skill with which she darkened her eyes with Kanjal or lampblack, reddened her cheeks with rouge and coloured her finger nails with henna, was known as Nigar or the Painted lady. Her courage was, if possible, greater even than her beauty. She scorned to ride camels or horses, as other well born Hindu ladies did. The only beast she would bestride was a lion and every evening outside Nerankot she might have been seen riding a splendid maned lion, who, when bridled by her, was as docile as the meekest ambling palfrey, to the touch of her finger on the reins. Nor would she suffer cowardice in others. She vowed and made public her vow that she would wed no man who feared to saddle and mount a lion.